I Will Wait for You
by Alyson Trotter
Summary: A series of moments in which William Darcy waits for Lizzie Bennet (future fic)
1. The Apartment

William Darcy is impatient.

Luckily, it's a character trait that's long been perceived as a virtue rather than a flaw. His impatience focuses and drives him toward success. It helps him identify what he wants in the world and to go after it. He is never overt or obnoxious about it; no toe tapping or rude outbursts. Yes, sometimes he can be blunt, but it is not so different from his usual social awkwardness.

All in all his impatience is the sort of trait that's easily masked by a reserved personality and professional success. That and that fact that most obstacles in life can be tackled quickly when you're a smart, wealthy CEO.

Waiting for Lizzie Bennet to arrive in San Francisco; however, is not most things. Time cannot be sped up through money or power or sheer force of will. It's a void that must be suffered through ever so slowly.

His condo has never felt so big or so empty as it does now. As if every night walking through the front door is going back to life pre-Lizzie. Pre-kissing Lizzie. Pre-knowing what Lizzie's hair smells like. Pre-knowing what it feels like to be pulled from room to room by slender, firm fingers intertwined with his.

His kitchen table is too large, the TV too intrusive and his bed too uninviting. His affair with hospital corners ends abruptly and no amount of tugging or tucking makes his bed feel like the one he shared with Lizzie in their first week together.

So he stops going home. And so do his direct reports. Soon all of Pemeberley Digital is burning the midnight oil. As the semester rolls on and Lizzie spends more time trapped in the university library, days at the digital media empire become longer and productivity skyrockets.

That is until the nap pods are all double booked and there's not a coffee bean left in the building. After a few nights of this, Mrs. Reynold's shuts William's laptop on his typing fingers, drapes his jacket over his arm and herds him toward the executive elevator with advice to start building model cars, join the Audubon society, _get a hobby_.

And he does. Sort of.

Lizzie asks him to swing by her new apartment and pick up the keys from the landlord. She won't move in for another three weeks, but the place is open and the woman who owns it is leaving for a seniors-only cruise to the Bahamas.

So of course William tests the door to make sure the key work. There are some elements that don't quite meet his criteria for well-ordered. A floorboard is missing in the hallway. Wind whistles through the gap between the door and the entryhall floor. He makes an impromptu Home Depot trip that day. And yes, he spends 45 minutes searching for the energy efficient light bulbs that were recently installed at Pemeberely. And maybe he pays a random contractor $50 to follow him back to Lizzie's for an inspection after he overhears him list the dangers of black mold in San Francisco apartments built before 1940.

Then a few days later Lizzie rants about Comcast and the fact that it took two hours to set up her account with them over the phone. She's dreading setting up the wifi network already.

So William takes an early lunch and spends several hours with the archaic router and repeatedly calls the asinine people answering the 1-800 number. By the time the network is broadcasting (TheLizzieBennet), he realizes he went a little overboard on the passcode encryption. He considers changing it for a moment before pasting the 26 character code into his Google task list under "For Lizzie's arrival."

Lizzie's already on to him. She called one of the nights he was fixing a sticking window and, after a momentary waver, he told her he was still in his office (_not_ chipping at twenty-year-old paint). His voice echoed up and around the high ceilings of the empty room, the upward lilt of his lie reverberated back into the phone.

A sigh filtered through the ear piece and Lizzie made him pinky promise not to build any of the IKEA furniture that had arrived earlier that day. William ends up spending the better half of the evening deconstructing a LAVIA book shelf, trying to recreate the Swedish packing system it had arrived in.

And it doesn't matter that it's not _their_ place. That was settled early on when Lizzie half-jokingly told him that their relationship was too new to risk being derailed by the fact that she doesn't always match her socks. William laughed, thinking, "w_ell, who fights about that_?" followed by a not-so-small voice wondering, _"who doesn't match their socks?"_

He's not used to being the least logical person in a situation. It might be something to get used to. If the last month and a half is any indication, his logic routinely flies out the window when it comes to Lizzie Bennet.

So yes, this is Lizzie's place, but maybe that's why he's drawn here. He sees her in the location (adjacent to boisterous Golden Gate Park), in the open shape of the bay window, in the welcoming moonlight filtering through the bedroom at night. Even in the wide wooden floors that were strangely mandatory during the apartment hunt (something to do with Lydia).

It's ironic that his own apartment, so full of things and food and life, can feel like so much less than this literal shell of a place. But he knows it's because the space is filled with so much potential. Somehow the _what if_ is so much more compelling than what is.

The endeavor is crazed, but effective. Time defies all previous laws of physics and speeds up. Lizzie turns in her thesis and William's Google reminder alerts him that there's just one week left before she'll be here, in this space.

Soon he is locking the door and racing to the airport, a final mental check list that has nothing to do with the apartment and everything to do with the real Lizzie Bennet. The one touching down in 45 minutes. The one he's been waiting for all this time.


	2. Girls' NIght

William leans back against the front door of his sedan; ankles crossed, hands in his pockets, as he considers the entrance to Smuggler's Cove. Standing outside a pirate themed bar in the Fillmore District at 1 am wasn't his first choice for the evening, but it could be worse.

And it's not as if it was completely unexpected.

Lizzie had called him around 9 pm to say girls' night was going better than planned and to not wait up. An hour later, Lydia sent him a picture of a blister and several texts about why winding Lombard Street is the, "worst thingeverrr" in heels. He was already lacing up his shoes when Gigi called at midnight asking to take him up on his chauffeur offer.

It all began with the Bennet sisters being in the same city for the first time in six months. Lydia dubbed it a night of celebration, or as she told William, "It's girls' night, Darcinator, no boys allowed." Then she threw a Wii remote in his lap and started another round of Just Dance.

Then Charlotte took the night off and Gigi made a special trip up north and between the five of them he was just glad he didn't have to drive across any bridges to Oakland, or all the way to Santa Cruz, or any number of places much worse than standing where he is.

He yawns and checks his watch. It's well past his usual bedtime, but he doesn't care about that so much tonight. The unseasonably warm spring evening has kept the fog from rolling through the city and warmth radiates from the pavement. San Francisco is a far cry from the city that never sleeps, but the weather has coaxed people out on the streets later than usual. William is content, overcome by the sense of being at home in his own city, waiting for Lizzie Bennet to complete the feeling.

He glances back at the entrance, wonders if he should send another text when his phone rings and Lydia's name lights across the screen.

"Hey Darce," she shouts over music that sounds vaguely nautical. "Your _girlfriend_ is holding us up."

Lydia must have turned the phone toward Lizzie. William can hear her say something about historical accuracy and movie stereotypes followed by several other voices disagreeing.

"She won't leave until the bartenders admit their pirate flag is wrong. Might I remind you, this is who you're dating."

He relaxes back into the car and chuckles lightly.

"Well historically speaking, pirates rarely, if ever, flew the Jolly Roger."

"Oh my god, nerds!" she shouts before hanging up on him.

William can't help but grin. He's grown accustom to the Bennet family's teasing over the past year and can give just as well as he gets. Or at least he's getting better at it.

Winding up Lydia has become a particularly favorite pastime. He isn't his usual protective brother around her; Lizzie has that territory well-covered, which means William fills a different role. He gets to be the dorky older brother who embarrasses her with his strange clothes and general weirdness (her words, not his).

It helps that these interactions never fail to make Lizzie laugh. Every time he makes Lydia roll her eyes or drop her face into her hands, she laughs in William's favorite way. He's not even sure if it sounds different from any other time, but it has something to do with the fact that he's responsible for it. Making Lizzie laugh feels like a gift he never thought he would receive, a novelty that never fades.

Inebriated Lizzie is another novelty that has yet to fade. William has rarely seen her drunk, the few instances have usually meant he's been equally gone and his memory of those nights is a bit foggy. Most nights out, she enjoys a tall stout or a whiskey neat followed by a shot of something stronger if the night demands it.

And in these moments she's Lizzie turned up to 11. Judgments can still come quick, but, more importantly, so does laughter, affection, and honesty. An appreciation for aspects of William's figure has been a common theme. He's learned that Lizzie is particularly fond of "Dapper Darcy". A term she coined one night soon after they started dating, the same night he discovered new advantages to wearing suspenders.

That might explain why he's out here in a waistcoat and dress pants in the middle of the night. He debates over the newsie cap in his back pocket before taking it out and pulling it over his head.

A large group walks past with a few familiar faces: A web developer he consulted with for an up and coming start-up, the others he recognizes from various networking events in the city. The developer raises his hand in a confused wave and William nods his head, touching his hat lightly in salute.

He can hear the rumor mill now: Pemberley Digital CEO spends off hours running car service. It's funny how much that might have bothered him two years ago. Today the thought just makes him laugh as he pockets the information to share with Lizzie later.

The entrance to Smuggler's Cove swings open and William steps away from the car, smoothing his waist coat. The nautical music from the phone blasts loudly into the street as the five women pour out onto the sidewalk, the music cutting off when the door shuts behind them.

As soon as Lydia gets outside, she kicks off her heels and Jane picks them up from behind her. Gigi giggles at something on Charlotte's phone and Lizzie…Lizzie is draped in a Jolly Roger flag, grinning triumphantly.

He grins back and shakes his head as Lizzie walks toward Lydia, arms outstretched. Lydia rolls her eyes and leans into her older sister.

"Okay dork, you were right, the bartenders were wrong and the internet is a wealth of information. Now can we go home already?"

Lizzie smiles and nods as Lydia makes a hobbled beeline for the back of Darcy's car.

"Thanks for the ride Darce, now open, open, open," she chants as he presses the unlock button on his keys.

There's a chorus of tired thank yous as the Gigi and Charlotte clamber in behind Lydia, Jane gives his hand a quick squeeze before helping negotiate seating arrangements.

And then there's Lizzie walking toward him like the cat who caught the canary, one hand holding the Jolly Roger flag over her shoulder with a crooked finger. He can't help if it's cliché to say she takes his breath away.

She places her hand on his chest and smiles.

"Good evening Dapper Darcy."

No, it's not cliché. Not if it's the actual, honest to god, physical truth of the matter; a novelty that has yet to fade away.


	3. The Proposal

**Author's Note:** Oh. My. God. So I messed up. I accidentally posted my second to last draft of this story which is a COMPLETE 180 to the end. THIS is how I originally wanted it to end, but I've been having a ton of trouble with it. So of course once I finally got it right I post the wrong one. Anyway, this is the correct ending. Enjoy!

William doesn't believe in waiting for the perfect moment.

Of course he wants tonight to be as close to perfect as possible, but he won't wait around for a signal from above. Proposing to Lizzie Bennet is not something you leave in the hands of the universe.

Those were his thoughts last month when he made a reservation at Gary Danko. And last week when he confirmed it. And last night when he made sure they had the bottle of Dom Pérignon he had dropped off. And just now when he sent a text to the maître to remind him to put it on ice after the restaurant had started to screen his calls.

William knows you can't wait around for fate to take care of things.

Gigi made him watch "Serendipity" once, but she shut it off after 20 minutes because he made his disapproving face when Kate Beckinsale hid her phone number in a book rather than just give it to John Cusack. He told her the characters were being impractical; she told him he missed the point.

The fact was he understood it too well. Serendipity wasn't about hoping the universe would sort out everything for you. It was about stumbling onto something good you didn't even know you were looking for and acting on it. Serendipity was catching the garter and dancing with Lizzie at the Gelson wedding. You didn't leave the rest to chance.

Not that all this planning made him any less nervous. After all, you only ask the love of your life to marry you once in your life. Or at least he hoped he only had to ask once. No. They had discussed this. He had already promised that his aunt wouldn't pick the venue. Tonight is the night.

He leaves the office early – Mrs. Reynold's practically leaps out of her desk to give him a hug – and heads out to the company parking structure.

William walks up to his car as his COO Harry Stetson heads toward the office. They nod at each other and Stetson slows down a bit.

"So, big celebration tonight, huh?"

William smiles and nods before catching himself. Aside from Reynolds, tonight's not public knowledge. Thankfully his board is used to their CEO being taciturn when things stray toward personal subjects.

"I've been hearing rumblings of a promising new web app. Try to keep Miss Bennet from acquiring PD until after I've cashed in my stock, eh?"

Stetson winks and keeps walking toward his car. William is left with his keys dangling from the door, utterly confused.

He slides into the driver seat and scrolls through his inbox. There's a slow flood of vague emails, lots of winking emoticons and hints at something concerning Lizzie. He slogs through a dozen before someone mentions Y Combinator.

_Oh._

Being selected by Y Combinator is the Silicon Valley equivalent of arriving on page 6 and Bennet Diaries has landed above the fold. Lizzie's start-up will get funding and resources and an indispensable network of people. William can only imagine the flurry of activity taken place at their headquarters (aka Lizzie's apartment).

A text from Lizzie comes through, "Hey! Call me when you leave work J"

While he might not believe in the perfect moment, he does acknowledge that there is such a thing as the wrong moment.

He calls Gigi and Fitz to make sure they don't text Lizzie or tweet any of their covert, yet public, messages about spring weddings or weird photoshopped images of eagles and tigers getting married they've been threatening to make.

He calls the restaurant to cancel the reservation and the maître laughs for a good minute before he realizes William isn't joking.

It's not until he calls Lizzie back that William's disappointment begins to ebb. Her excitement and joy flows through the phone. The sound of cheers and Queen play in the background. It's been a long year for Bennet Diaries and it's about time the world saw what she's been working on with her team. He sits up straighter as she describes the phone call and how she was sure they were calling to tell them no. He's can hear her smile and feels himself smiling back into the phone.

She feels bad about dinner (he never told her where they were going) and he tells her to stop, because this is important.

He volunteers to pick up more alcohol (he needs time to call off a few dogs) and Lizzie puts in an order for a dozen pizzas because a startup celebration is really only a step above a frat party. Their current budget calls for beer and fried food for personal celebrations. They will have to wait a few more years for fancy client meals and a black tie celebration when they go public.

William is half way home when he decides to turn back around and pick up the Dom Pérignon from the restaurant. It seems appropriate for tonight.

As he walks to Lizzie's door he can still feel the ring box press into his thigh. He feels it as they pop the champagne and he catches Lizzie's brown eyes from across the room. He feels it as Lizzie gives a teary eyed toast thanking her team for all their hard work. He feels it as Lizzie forces him to participate in something called "The Wobble."

It's still there several hours later when the team is on its fifth toast and the clock is striking 2 am. Eyes are bleary, but ecstatic and the only thing that still feels real is Lizzie leaning into his chest and that weight of the box as the team hits the fifth verse of a very slurred Bohemien Rhapsody.

They filter out around 3 am and Darcy begins to clean up the empty bottles and cardboard boxes. Lizzie watches him for a bit and catches his hand when he passes the couch, pulling him down next to her.

"Leave it for tomorrow," she says, pulling at his rolled up sleeve. "I just want to stay here for a little longer."

She sighs. The weight of the past seven hours is released in that sigh and suddenly it's them, just them in a trashed apartment in the heart of San Francisco. He smiles and settles into the couch.

"Thank you for tonight," she says suddenly.

He stares at her, not sure what she's thanking him for.

"Just, thank you for the beer and the champange and not hating me for canceling dinner and for hanging out with my crazy team in our crazy office," she looks at him carefully. "I couldn't have asked for a more supportive partner in all this."

He thinks about their future and how things will change. Late nights like this won't be uncommon, but they also won't all end in champagne and toasts. They'll be long and exhausting and rewarding and hard.

William might not believe in perfect moments, but he does believe in moments that are exactly right right. There will be other nights, other romantic dinners, he knows this as strongly as he knows Gigi is staring at her phone, waiting for him to text her back.

He stretches his arms and yawns, Lizzie is watching him carefully. He raises his eyebrows and she just smiles.

"William Darcy, will you marry me?"

He thinks of the ring in his pocket and knows this is right. It's a moment that's pretty damn perfect.


	4. The Foundation Banquet

William scans the ballroom, searching for red hair amongst the mass of floor length gowns and tuxedo jackets. Chatter rises up from the tables, chairs slide across the wood floor as friends and colleagues greet each other with a kiss on the cheek and a firm handshake.

He and Lizzie have been married ten years, but William has waited for this night for much longer than that. He's waited since the night he first watched Lizzie's videos.

"Save the world, change the culture." The phrase lingered in his mind even as the cold slap of rejection and humiliation faded. She said it gleefully, but matter of fact. As if there was no questioning the validity of such an idealistic claim. It struck him the same way she said her name at the start of the videos or the way she tells him she loves him before stepping out of their apartment each morning. Too perfect and good to be true, and yet it is.

He said he was in love with her then, but he didn't yet know all there was to love.

"Save the world, change the culture."

Now here they are in the Imperial Ballroom of the St. Francis Hotel, those same words practically tattooed to his lips. They are the mantra that brought them here tonight and the mantra which will hopefully carry them through the coming years.

The room is filled with friends and allies, but also strangers they mean to woo. Darcy has grown no better at the tete-a-tete so central to fundraising, but for this? For this he is willing to try, thankful to have Lizzie by his side to smooth the inevitable social bumps.

Aside from his board of directors, the room is unaware that he's stepping down as CEO of Pemberely Digital. He will remain on the board and will possess control of the company at 51% of share. Lizzie has a similar announcement and he wonders at tomorrow's blog headlines.

He spots Lizzie near the back tables alongside the floor-length windows. Her dress is a deep blue, long and elegant. William watches as she leans into a seated group and says something. An older gentleman responds and she throws her head back in open, unguarded laughter. She radiates grace and confidence as she continued past and William can't help but be amazed as she interacts easily with dignitaries, business moguls, and a vaguely familiar actor from some show she used to make him watch on Thursday nights.

She has a talent he's never possessed to engage with people she's just met. He's long relied on a reputation that precedes him; one that encompasses a family legacy and a steadfast performance on Wall Street.

But Lizzie, Lizzie brings life and a renewed sense of daring to entrepreneurship. The kind his father possessed and William always wished to emulate. His father and Lizzie in the same room would be a force to be reckoned with. He looks down at his feet to hide his sudden grin.

When he looks up, Lizzie catches his eye from mid-room. William taps his watch, a gentle reminder that they have a speech to make. Lizzie whispers "Sorry!" and he smiles. There's plenty of time.

The Elizabeth & William Darcy Foundation has been their dream for the nearly five years. It all began one night at the bar around the corner from their apartment. William had been instructed to meet Lizzie there with two beers and a puppy or something really stupidly happy.

"Everyone has the right to have their story told," Lizzie practically shouted over the din, toying with the cardboard coaster under her glass. "But not like that."

It had been a tough week and William listened with knitted brows as Lizzie unloaded about a documentary director who had pitched Bennet Productions earlier that day.

His pitch represented everything she despised most: Blatant exploitation, sexism, racism and, worst of all, a compelling skewing of events that any mainstream production company would be thrilled to see cross its desk. It was picked up by a rival company a few hours later.

She wondered why it was so hard to tell a true, firsthand account. Wouldn't it be great if they could empower people to tell their own stories, to prevent the exploitation and manipulation by going straight to the source?

Darcy nodded along and wondered about the logistics of recording first-hand accounts using web apps similar to those used at Pemberely Digital. Domino was an economic editing tool, it would need some adapting, but it was an intriguing idea.

Their ideas bounced off one another and quickly multiplied. They drew their plans on bar napkins, flagging the waiter to bring them another stack. Neighboring patrons stared as they dragged a nearby table over for more space.

The words come back to him, "Save the world, change the culture."

William remembers that night fondly as Lizzie continues to make her way toward the front of the room. She holds the fabric of her gown a few inches off the floor as she maneuvers between guests, lightly touching the arm of a congressman here, a nonprofit president there, Geena Davis, Kathryn Bigelow, Quvenzhané Wallis. It's surreal to watch, so very surreal, to imagine that night in the bar five years earlier and where they are now.

Not that it's been easy or, god forbid, quick.

The plans sat in a file folder in their home office for years. Many nights he would catch himself opening the drawer and contemplating the light yellow of the manila folder. There were other nights when he was stuck at the office slashing a projects budget that had him pulling his hair out at the roots wondering, what he and Lizzie could be working on right now instead.

Waiting for the right moment in both their professional lives made the endeavor feel like a cruel pipe dream. If Pemberly Digital was steady, Bennet Production was ramping up to go public. If BP had a successful release, PD was suffering from investor fatigue. William too often played PR puppet while the dust settled and he and Lizzie were forced to put off their plans once again.

Then one evening he came home to Lizzie taping the napkins directly to the living room wall. The empty manila folder sat on the coffee table beside a stack of multicolor post-it and an array of colored sharpies, thin tipped, his preferred pen.

By the end of the night they have a timeline with a deadline for the end of the year and a list of possible partnerships. They make phone calls to friends. None of them question the hour when they hear the excitement through the phone.

Charlotte agreed to design the training videos. Her level headedness, patience, and ability to break down a process have made her a specialist in the area. It took her months after Game of Goards was picked up to realize she wasn't only good at, it was something she enjoyed.

Gigi quickly took the lead on adapting Domino. Lizzie was only half way through the plan before Gigi had messaged her team to begin reorganizing for a new venture.

Bing was an invaluable resource, answering all of their questions about nonprofits and eventually signing on as lead consultant when it was clear their emails weren't about to slow down. Even if he's swamped with his other organizations, he finds Lizzie and William's enthusiasm impossible to turn down.

After that first night the pieces fall into place, one after the other. The living room wall looks like a crazed person's trying to solve some conspiracy, bits of string connect business plans to maps to lists to travel itineraries. Lizzie comments on this as they sit on the couch together, feet up on the coffee table, admiring their work.

Darcy considers the wall and the words roll off his tongue as if by second nature, "Save the world, change the culture." Because she's right, they are a couple of crazy people. But what they're trying to solve is a lot more complicated than any old conspiracy. It doesn't take a marketing genius to realize they have their slogan.

Lizzie slips past the front few tables and William reaches out to steady her as she steps over the AV cords. The stare at each other, grinning like a couple of kids visiting Disneyland for the first time. For how much they wanted this, it seems impossible that they're finally doing it. Together.

She takes his arm and they take the first step up to the stage, together, a couple of crazy conspirators with a crazy goal.


End file.
